As he bent to her, Kieran’s steely voice stopped him. “Not everything, James. The lady will never be sullied by you.”
James and Megan looked up to discover that Kieran had climbed in through the window of the cottage. Megan gave a little cry of joy at the sight of him.
“O’Mara.” James swung around to find Kieran’s sword pointed at his heart.
Lifting his own sword, James lunged. The tip of his sword missed Kieran’s heart by mere inches, tearing through his tunic but failing to cut his flesh.
Kieran easily avoided his next thrust, then drove James back again and again until he tripped over the body of Malcolm. As he fell, James’ sword slipped from his hand. Desperate, he pulled the bloody knife from Malcolm’s chest and lunged at Megan. Holding her in front of him as a shield, he placed the blade against her throat and snarled, “Now, O’Mara, you will drop your sword or I swear I will spill the lady’s blood.”
Kieran felt a surge of helpless rage. There had been a time when he would have ruthlessly driven home the point of his sword without regard for such threats. But this was Megan in the hands of this madman. And he could not bear the thought of any harm coming to her. “Let Megan go, James.” His voice was low, deadly.
“I will kill her, O’Mara, and her blood will be upon your hands.”
“Nay, Kieran.” Megan fought to keep the fear from her voice. “You must not lower your weapon. He will kill us both.”
With a glance at Megan, Kieran allowed the sword to drop from his hand. In the silence, it clattered to the floor.
Shoving Megan into Kieran’s arms, James bent and retrieved the sword, then brandished it menacingly.
“The lady was right, O’Mara. Now I will have the pleasure of killing both of you before returning to the chapel to witness my father’s marriage to the lovely Lady Katherine.”
Megan felt Kieran’s hands tighten at her shoulders, but he continued watching James through narrowed eyes. As James lifted his sword and advanced on them, Kieran thrust Megan behind him. But when James took another step, the door to the cottage was thrown open. Standing in the doorway was Tavis Downey. His face was red, his brow beaded with perspiration.
“You are late,” James said before turning back to his adversaries.
“Aye.”
“So, Tavis, it was you.” Kieran’s tone was tinged with sadness.
“Aye. Your good and noble friend,” James said with a laugh. “He has been most helpful in keeping us informed of your plans. And now,” James called to the man in the doorway, “you may bid these two a final farewell. In fact, if you wish, you may join me for the final thrust.”
As he once more lifted his sword, Tavis, looking from Kieran to James and back again, lifted his own sword and shouted, “Kieran, I would make it a fair fight.” He tossed his sword and Kieran caught it and in a single gesture turned to meet James’s thrust.
“Fool,” James cried. “You have chosen the wrong side in this fight. Now you can die alongside your old friend.”
Megan and Tavis watched helplessly as the two men fought, their blades slashing again and again until, at last, Kieran gave a triumphant cry and James fell to the floor in a pool of blood.
Instantly Megan launched herself into Kieran’s outstretched arms and clung to him, tears coursing along her cheeks.
“Are you unharmed, love?” Kieran whispered against her temple.
“Aye. And you?”
She touched a hand to his torn sleeve and was relieved to see that he was not cut.
“Dress yourself, my love. I will stir the ashes.”
“Nay, Kieran. There is no time. You must go and warn your mother. Her marriage to Sir Cecil is a sham.”
“I have left Killamara. My mother’s life is of her own making.”
“You do not understand. This has all been a plot to steal your inheritance and return you and Colin to Fleet. The soldiers already ride toward Castle O’Mara.”
From across the room Tavis said, “The lass speaks the truth, Kieran. We must ride.”
“We?”
As Megan pulled on her gown, Kieran strode across the room to confront his old friend. The abject expression on Tavis’s face left Kieran no doubt that the young man suffered great remorse.
“Forgive me, Kieran. I was jealous that you had gone to England without me. I intended only to vent some anger. But Sir Cecil and James, knowing my weakness for the ale, plied me with drink until my tongue was loosened. When I awoke, they told me that I had revealed all your plans about England. I never dreamed it would lead to this. But I had gone too far. Sir Cecil and his son threatened to expose me to you and the others. I could not bear to have all of Killamara know of my dishonor. And so I continued to give them whatever knowledge they desired.” He ran a hand through his hair in a distracted gesture. “It was I who invaded the lass’s chambers, at James’s command, and stole the soldier’s clothes. But I swear, I thought it a harmless gesture. I—” he swallowed and said softly “—never dreamed you would fall in love with her.”
“Why did they want the clothes?” Kieran asked.
“They had to confirm that the soldiers you evaded were the ones in their employ. And that led them to Malcolm MacAlpin, who had allied himself with the English. It was he who knew the identity of the lass.” Tavis lifted his head and met Kieran’s gaze. “I know you can never forgive me. But I pray you will not seek vengeance against my family. All they have ever wanted was to live in Killamara in peace.”
“And you, Tavis? What is it you want?”
The man’s voice was unaccountably contrite. “Forgiveness. That is all I have ever wanted. To be your friend, Kieran O’Mara, and to live here among my people.”
“It was a terrible thing you did. It cost us great pain. And it nearly cost us our lives. But I believe you, Tavis. And I believe in second chances.”
Kieran offered his hand. With a look of stunned disbelief, Tavis stared at it for long minutes before accepting it.
“Does this mean I can ride with you?”
“Nay, Tavis. The pain of your deceit is still too raw. I do not wish to look at you. Go home to your family.”
Kieran turned to Megan, who had hurriedly dressed and was strapping on James’s discarded sword. “Can you ride, my lady?”
“Aye.”
“Then we ride to Castle O’Mara. And pray it is not too late to save my mother from the devil who would claim her.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“H ugh.” As Lady Katherine swept down the stairs, Hugh Cleary paused with his hand on the outer door of the castle. She stared in dismay at the heavy wool traveling cloak tossed over his shoulders.
“Where do you ride so early?”
“I am preparing for the journey home, my lady.”
“Now?” Her eyes widened. “But you promised to stay for my wedding.”
“Aye. I did. But I find that I cannot stay.”
“Oh, Hugh.” She placed her hand on his arm. “What is it? What has happened to send you away so suddenly?”
“Do not be offended, Katherine.” He touched her cheek, then abruptly lowered his hand and clenched it by his side. “I cannot stay and watch you give yourself to Sir Cecil. It would be more than my heart could bear.”
She thought about her own breaking heart and pushed aside the pain. “You were leaving without a word to me?”
His gaze roamed her lovely face that through the years had become imprinted forever in his memory. “Nay, Katherine. I could not leave without a last look at you. I would have sought you out for a final farewell.”
Her voice lowered. “You speak as though we will never see each other again.”
“Do you really believe Cecil Kettering will remain in Ireland after the deed is done?”
At her look of consternation he allowed himself to touch her hand. It was cold. So cold. “He will take his prize to England and wear you on his arm for all to see and admire. As any man would who was fortunate to win your heart. And if you should
ever yearn for this tiny island, he will remind you that your place is there beside him.”
He saw the pain that came into her eyes. Growing bolder, he framed her face with his big hands and murmured, “I cannot bear to see you hurt, Katherine. And so I must go. But know that I will carry you always in my heart.”
“Oh, Hugh.” Tears filled her eyes and spilled over, coursing down her cheeks.
With his thumbs he wiped her tears and lowered his head until his lips brushed hers. It was all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms and stealing her away with him. But he had not the right.
Very deliberately he stepped back, pulled open the massive door and strode across the courtyard to his waiting horse. His men were already mounted. At a word from their leader they formed two columns and paraded smartly away.
Lady Katherine stood in the doorway and watched, her eyes misted with tears. Long after Hugh’s horse had disappeared from view, she continued to stand, staring at the emptiness that lay before her.
Mistress Peake waddled around the scullery, driving the servants into a frenzy of cleaning. Hurrying to the refectory, she lifted the heavy silver lid of a tureen and tasted the broth simmering beneath the plump partridges. On a table groaning with sweets, she studied the row of her famous cakes and suddenly burst into tears. That was how Lady Katherine found her when she entered the room a few minutes later.
“Oh, my lady.” She lifted her apron to her eyes and wiped furiously. “You must think me daft.”
Recalling her own tears, Lady Katherine caught the housekeeper’s hands and squeezed them affectionately. “Nay, Mistress Peake. It is a day of great emotions.”
“I keep remembering how proud my Lord O’Mara was the day he brought you to his home, my lady. We were all so fearful of a noble English lady taking charge of the household. But you were so kind and patient with us. And so good.” Mistress Peake’s tears started afresh. Before she could stop herself she blurted, “He will hurt you, my lady. You must not wed him.” At the enormity of what she had said, she gasped and covered her mouth. It was unforgivable for a servant to speak so boldly to her mistress.
After a lengthy, awkward silence, Lady Katherine composed her features and stiffened her spine. “Hush now, Mistress Peake. We will speak no more of it.” She glanced around the room. “I will leave you to your tasks. There is much to be done yet before I leave for the chapel.”
The housekeeper watched as Lady Katherine closed the doors behind her. Then she sank into a chair and fell into another fit of weeping.
Aileen’s hands trembled as she lifted the combs to Lady Katherine’s hair and secured the veil. Her mistress had chosen a simple gown of the palest pink silk. The neckline was modestly high, unadorned by jewelry. The sleeves were full to the elbows, then tapered, falling into points that covered the backs of her hands. Over her gown she wore a sleeveless cape of the same pink, lined with ermine.
“You look lovely, my lady. Shall I have Padraig prepare your carriage?”
“Nay, Aileen. I would walk to the chapel.” Lady Katherine strode from the room. She needed fresh air, and quickly, else she would suffocate.
Sir Cecil studied his reflection in the looking glass. He knew that he still cut a fine figure. But, with his marriage to Katherine accomplished, he would be the object of even more admiring glances. In England the O’Mara jewels would bring a handsome sum. But more importantly, Katherine’s holdings here and in England would enhance his standing among the titled at court. More than a few women would find him fascinating when they learned of his wealth. He preened a moment longer, then, seeing Katherine and her servants heading toward the chapel, he strode from the room, savoring his victory.
As if in a trance, Lady Katherine moved up the aisle of the chapel. Cecil looked supremely confident as he took her arm and led her to the altar. The bishop wore a somber look as he opened the book and began the words that would forever change all their lives.
In the first pew, little Bridget wept in Cara’s arms as Colin tried to comfort his wife and his inconsolable niece.
“Do you, Katherine, give yourself to this man of your own free will?”
It was a most serious question, and one that Katherine had asked herself many times in the torment of a sleepless night. Was there really any choice left to her? Could a mother ever freely choose imprisonment for her beloved children over her own freedom? Even if Cecil had exaggerated his influence with the Queen, she could not take the risk, however slight, that he could spare her sons the horror of imprisonment or that he might spare her people the horror of war.
“I do.”
The bishop turned to Cecil, then looked up at the sounds of a scuffle in the rear of the chapel.
Cecil felt a rush of fury. The fools had disobeyed his command to wait until the marriage vows had been spoken. Now the bishop and Katherine would have to be forced at sword point to complete the ceremony.
He turned with a scowl. But it was not only his soldiers who had created the disturbance. His mouth dropped open in astonishment when he saw Kieran O’Mara and the lady Megan crossing swords with two English soldiers.
Though his men were able, they were no match for their opponents. Kieran quickly overpowered his man. Megan, fighting with all the skill of a man, backed one soldier to the wall, then easily disarmed him. As more soldiers spilled through the doorway, Colin, seated in a pew beside Cara, rushed forward and picked up a sword from one of the fallen soldiers. Instantly he joined Kieran and Megan as they battled the soldiers.
Outside, the sounds of blade striking blade and the cries of the wounded filled the air. There was a battle raging, though the combatants could not be seen.
Inside the chapel, there was a strange, eerie silence as everyone watched Kieran, Colin and Megan stride up the aisle.
“There will be no marriage,” Kieran declared.
“Kieran,” his mother said, turning to him in alarm. “You do not understand…”
“I understand everything, Mother.” He placed an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “I know that you agreed to this marriage because Cecil convinced you that Colin and I were in danger.”
“There are soldiers…”
“Aye, Mother. Many English soldiers.”
“God in heaven. You see, Kieran, we must…”
He touched a hand to her lips to silence her. “Your intended husband ordered the soldiers here. As soon as you were safely wed, Sir Cecil would have us returned to Fleet. Then you and all of Killamara would have been his to use as he pleased.”
Lady Katherine turned on the man who stood scowling beside her. “Cecil, is this true?”
“Do you not see soldiers here, my dear? Did I not warn you the Queen was weary? But a single word from me will end all this. The choice is yours.” Sir Cecil forced a tight smile to his lips. “Your son has always resented me. This is a last desperate attempt to keep us apart.” He turned to the bishop. “Proceed with the vows. Quickly.”
“Order your soldiers to cease their fighting, Sir Cecil, or there will be much blood shed this day.” Kieran’s voice rose with emotion. “My people will resist until their freedom is secured.”
“Liar! I came here in peace to offer your mother a better way of life.”
“Do you also call your son, James, a liar, Sir Cecil?”
Kieran saw the look that came into the man’s eyes as he turned toward him.
“What does that mean?”
“It was James who admitted your plot.”
Sir Cecil’s eyes narrowed, but the sudden fear was evident in them. He glanced around the chapel. “Where is my son?”
“He lies dead in a cottage in the forest.”
“Nay.” Cecil advanced on Kieran, his eyes blazing.
As the bishop and Lady Katherine reacted with growing horror, Kieran said, “I followed James to the cottage, only to find Megan inside about to be brutalized by both Malcolm MacAlpin and your son.”
“Then James is dead by your hand?”
Sir Cecil’s tone was low, deadly.
“Aye. And I would do so again, with no regret, if someone I loved was threatened.”
“Then allow me to repay you for the murder of my son.” Sir Cecil lunged forward, twisting Lady Katherine in front of him like a shield. In his hand was a knife, which he pressed to her throat. “You will drop your weapons.” His eyes glittered with hatred. He left no doubt that he would kill her if his command was not obeyed.
At the sound of running feet they saw the chapel fill with English soldiers, who stood awaiting Sir Cecil’s command.
“Now you will drop your weapons, or the lady’s blood will be upon your hands.”
Colin, Kieran and Megan allowed their swords to drop to the floor. Instantly one of the soldiers retrieved them.
“The lady will accompany me across this hostile land to the safety of my ship.”
Kieran’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. Never had he felt so powerless. Yet he knew, with absolute certainty, that he would never allow Sir Cecil to leave Killamara with his beloved mother. He would die rather than permit it.
“Now, my lady,” Sir Cecil said in her ear as he made his way down the aisle, “you will not resist if you value your pretty neck.”
When they reached the door to the chapel, Sir Cecil turned toward the ones who watched from the altar. “You will taste my wrath, Kieran O’Mara. Know this. I will spare no one in this miserable village. You will die knowing that your mother and brother and the woman, Megan MacAlpin, will all die with you. As well as the people of Killamara.” To the soldiers who stood with upraised swords he ordered, “Kill them all.”
Kieran pushed Megan behind him as he faced the enemy. Colin moved to stand beside his brother. Bishop O’Mara, who had been strangely silent throughout the entire revelation, suddenly seemed to come to life. Striding forward, he faced the soldiers.
“If you would harm these good people in God’s church, you will have to kill me and my priests, as well.”